A Sadness Runs Through Him
by JustStandingHere
Summary: "But other than that, time was one long, consecutive, wibbly-wobbly thing, not measured by anything or anyone, especially him. Until now, that is. Now he counts the days, every single one of them."


**I KNOW I SHOULD BE WORKING ON "CHANGING THE EQUATION" AND I KNOW THE SPECIAL WAS A WEEK AGO BUT WHATEVER**.

**Also, some information is that which I've taken from the mini-episodes called "Night and the Doctor", and I'd suggest you go watch them before.**

**I'm just trying on angst for size and I really hope this works ok.**

**-JustStandingHere**

* * *

Before, he didn't care much about measuring time in the TARDIS.

There was no day and night to him, in all honesty. No minutes or hours or months. The only thing that really mattered to him was years, and even then he did a poor job of tracking those as well. Time is a relative thing, and when one is travelling in and out of it relativity gets a little mixed up.

When he had companions, they kept the time. Always handy with watches and cellular phones. Some even kept calendars, marking off the twenty-four hour periods consecutively. They were the ones who knew they had been aboard for however many weeks, not him. And when he did find out he'd usually catalogue it, adding it to the last announcement of 'did-you-know-it's-been-this-long', and make an estimate age.

When he was alone, before, the TARDIS would sometimes make a little dinging noise, showing on the scanner that, indeed, it was his birthday, even though he never celebrated it anymore. After 500 years, he realized that it just meant he was that he had been allowed to live longer than someone else. And when he reached 1000 years, well, he found it absolutely useless. Still, he found it helpful to know, in case someone asked. But other than that, time was one long, consecutive, wibbly-wobbly thing, not measured by anything or anyone, especially him. Until now, that is.

Now he counts the days, every single one of them.

It starts a little unintentionally, on his part. He's travelling with River, and she's gone off into the wardrobe to get the correct outfit. They're going to 1700's France, to visit Versailles. He, of course, doesn't care to change, so he waits in the console room, absently checking statistics to keep his mind busy from the thoughts that so continually prod his mind.

But, unfortunately, he's checking the scanner when the thoughts finally emerge victorious, because all of the results are boring and expected and predictable.

And they ask him _How long has it been? How long ago was it that they both slipped out of your grasp? _

And, in spite of himself, he obliges to their curiosity. He searches the scanner, pulls out the correct data.

It has been approximately 2 weeks since New York. 14 days, 4 hours, 13 minutes, in one wants to be precise.

It's from then on that he starts a new era, the 'After Ponds'.

France is nice, after that. Marie Antoinette attempts to steal a snog from him when River comes in on the scene. Luckily for the queen, River's left her gun in the TARDIS and lets her run away. The Doctor gets a palm across the cheek and a rather long kiss immediately afterward.

He loves River, he really does. She understands time travel and always leaves him wondering. She's a mystery, even now, and he loves a good mystery. And in her, he still has the Ponds, in a way. Melody Pond, the last one. And in her, he doesn't see the bad things. Not all the time.

* * *

52 days After Ponds, River is piloting the TARDIS and has sent the Doctor to go grab something she left behind in the library. He walks the hallways in silence, the sound being the small tapping noise of his boots on the metal floor.

He starts whistling a tune to fill the quiet. He doesn't like silence, not at all. That's why he usually spends his time by the console, with the time rotor constantly going up and down and whooshing. Silence is odd; it's unnatural to him. In all his life, all he's ever found happiness in is _noise_. And silence…well, he's found a completely different thing in silence.

It's a nameless tune, something he composes as he goes along. It echoes in the hallways, reverberating so that even he pauses for a moment the sound still exists, filling the quiet void.

He turns a corner, entering another corridor. This one has multiple doors, all labeled with different names. The library is in one of these doors, somewhere, so he starts reading the plates just above the doorways. He walks past the kitchen, the dojo, the zero room…

He stops whistling and stands in front of the doorway labeled 'Ponds'.

He's encountered his companion's room's before. Back in his tenth regeneration he would continually walk into Rose's room, trying to keep her alive somehow. He would smile every time he walked past Martha's or Donna's. Sometimes he would happen upon older companions and would be greeted by old, happy memories of times that once were.

But most of those people weren't dead. And those who were died a long time ago. He had time to heal, and personally he those past versions of him grieved better. They were younger, more naïve.

He reaches out for the door handle and turns it slowly. The door opens easily and he walks in. The room is untidy, so much that if the dust was removed he may have thought he had just missed them and they were somewhere else on board, searching for him.

He goes to the edge of the bed, which isn't made, and sits there.

He stays there for two hours. He thinks, he doesn't really know. But he just sits there, until a voice fills the silence.

"Doctor!" River calls. "Doctor, where are you? It's been hours since I last saw you, and where's my jacket? I told you to—"

She's standing in the doorway. He looks up and smiles sadly to her.

"Sorry, River," he apologizes. "Lost track of time."

"Sweetie, is this where you've been all this time?" she asks, walking in.

He gives her a single nod. "Yes," he answers, plain and simple because, really, does he need to explain anything more?

She sits next to him and hugs him tightly with one arm while he goes back to looking down.

"I know you miss them," River says. "I do too."

He keeps his head down. "I don't know why you've stayed with me," he says. "They were your _parents_. And I let them…" He can't say the word, it makes it too final.

"Oh, will you stop blaming yourself?" River asks. He looks at her. "It wasn't your fault. And they lived a happy life."

"But it was because of me," he continues. "I brought them along, I caused all of this. They could've led simple, normal lives, never knowing any better. None of the horrible things that ever happened to them would've happened."

River nods at this. "Yes, but then none of the good things would've happened."

He stays silent.

She looks at him and gives him a small smile. "Come on. How about a trip around the Rings of Saturn to cheer you up?"

He smiles back and they stand up, exiting the room.

He vows to never go inside there again.

* * *

124 days After Ponds, River comes and says she's finished the book.

"What book?" he asks thoughtlessly, busy twisting dials and flipping switches.

"The Melody Malone book," she answers. He turns around to see her holding a stack of papers in her hand.

He gulps. "Oh."

She smiles at him sadly. They do that a lot around each other now. "All I need is the—"

"—afterword," he finishes. And he's known this day would come, some day. But not this soon. "You finished the book quicker than I would imagine."

She smirks. "Well, I've been told I'm good at working fast with my hands," she says. "And it's all fresh in memory. I made myself write a few pages every night."

He smiles at her. "Well, I'm sure it's going make one hell of a book."

And they laugh, because even though it's sad it's like a small inside joke they have with one another and, for a moment, they can just smile.

But it doesn't last long. "I can drop you off nearby, if you want."

River smiles and holds up her wrist, which has the vortex manipulator. "I think I'm set for now. Wouldn't want you tearing New York apart now, would we?"

He lands in a neighborhood somewhere in New Jersey in the year 1948. And, at the moment, the pair of reading glasses and note in his jacket pocket feels ten times heavier. He hasn't taken them out of there since New York; he hasn't wanted to.

But knowing that, one state over and a couple miles after that, Amy and Rory are living and thriving, he can't help himself. He pulls out the pair of glasses that clink together as plastic hits the lenses, and inspects them. They're thin, brittle. Fragile. He doesn't know how they've survived since they've been in his pocket all this time, and during then he's been shot at, thrown to the ground, and even almost burned at the stake for witchcraft.

But they've survived, no matter how easily breakable they are.

He never knew he had so much in common with a pair of glasses.

Next is the note, the afterword. The one River is probably asking Amy to write right now. Knowing Amy, she's probably getting flustered over it, telling River she'll need a couple days and that you can't just _throw_ something like this on a person. He smiles at the thought.

He reads it again. And again. And again.

And every time he come to the final line, something aches in him. Because it's at an end. It's done. Because even though she's living now, it's an end for him. His time with her is done, and right now he could go into New York and talk to her, be with her and Rory. But he can't. He can't and he knows why and he's just barely keeping himself from opening the doors and running to them.

And he hates when he just simply 'can't'.

River's gone for a while, two days to be exact. And he admits to himself that he's jealous that she can simply be there, and every minute she's with them more is a minute he's not.

He tinkers with things, tries to keep his mind busy. Reads the page a couple times over, puts on the classes. At one point he just stares at the time rotor and simply _thinks_, wondering about what could've been and what has been. How things could've been different.

He doesn't eat. Or sleep, for that matter. He just thinks.

River arrives two days later, popping in and walking through the doors to find him silently looking at the rotor from the seat, glasses on a paper gripped loosely in his hand, unblinking.

If she didn't know any better, she would've thought he was dead.

"I'm back," she announces, walking up the stairs.

He snaps out of his trance, looking over to her. "Oh," he says. "How was it?"

She smiles. "It was good," she tells him, walking over to the console and leaning against it. "They're living in an apartment over in Brooklyn. Rory's working at the local clinic, so they've been getting a good income."

"And Amy?" he asks.

"She's a journalist for a women's magazine," River says. "Absolutely hates the sexism of this era, she told me she's gladly looking forward to the sixties. She misses you a lot, they both do." She pauses, looking down. "I'm a sister now."

He frowns at this. "But they couldn't—"

"He's adopted," she informs him. "Anthony, he's only a couple years old."

"Are you okay with that?" he asks.

"Of course I am!" River snaps. "They finally get to have the child they wanted…" She gulps. "One they actually get to raise for themselves. A normal…child." She gives him a watery smile.

He stands up and embraces her. She buries her face into his shoulder.

"Shhh," he hushes quietly. He strokes her head gently. "Don't think that way, they loved you. They loved you so, so much, throughout everything. And don't you dare think otherwise." He pauses. "You're a_ sister_ now, can you believe it? Every night, Amy and Rory will sit down and tell Anthony about his glorious sister, Melody Pond, and about all of her adventures. He'll tell bullies how his sister could shoot them straight with her gun and at show-and-tell say she's a time-travelling archaeologist. They aren't going to forget you, River, no. They're going to remember you, every day. And Anthony's going to remember you, too."

They stay like that, until finally they break apart. River shows him the afterword, reads it aloud to see if it matches the one he's got in his hands. They stop off at the publisher's office and send it in, telling them to call. They return to the TARDIS and, for the sake of their own sanity, go off and get into trouble. The publisher calls three days later, saying that they love the book. _Melody Malone_ hits bookshelves a little while after that, and gains success. So much, in fact, that in 2012 a time traveler will see it in the best seller's section at a local New York bookstore and decide to read it.

They go on with their lives for the time being, travelling and kissing and keeping their minds busy.

They don't bring up Amy and Rory much in their conversations anymore, if at all.

* * *

On day 172 After Ponds he throws all of the fish fingers and custard boxes into the rubbish bin.

It just doesn't taste the same anymore.

* * *

Its 191 days After Ponds when River asks the Doctor to drop her off at the university for a bit, so that she can get back to her work for a month or two.

She reminds him that he can simply skip ahead, but that she won't always be there for him and sooner or later he's going to have to find someone, anyone, to go along with him. He says he'll remember to do that, just so that he can see a smile on her face, though in fact he'd rather just stay with her. It would be better not to destroy any more lives, he's already ruined enough.

So the minute he drops her off he sets his destination two months for his current location and flies off to meet her, trying to act like it's been a while for him as well.

He lands the TARDIS and walks out to find her in her room. He bursts through the door while she's at her desk, filling out paperwork for something. She jumps and smiles at him, standing up and going over to greet him.

"Hello, Sweetie," she says, standing up. "How long has it been for you?"

"Oh, a few weeks," he lies. "Went to the Hindu festival of Holi—that was fun—among other things."

She smirks. "And have you found anybody yet?"

He shakes his head. "No, not yet. Still searching, though!"

She swats him across the shoulder. "Don't lie to me, sweetie, I can always tell and it just makes things worse."

He nods. "Well, okay, it _may_ have been shorter than that."

"Approximately how much shorter?" she asks.

He looks down. "A few weeks, but that's not the point! We have adventures to go on, places to see, eh?"

She shakes her head. "I told you to start looking for new people, didn't I?"

"It's only been 6 months, River I can't just…throw them out like that!" he explains. "I'll find someone, I promise, but not right now. Right now, I want to spend time with my wife and go to planets, civilizations! Wonderful things, don't you want to go as well?"

He sees a smile sneak onto her face and she sighs. "I do, but I can't at the moment."

He frowns. "Why?"

"I've got to finish the final paperwork for an expedition I'm going on," she explains. "But after that we can go a few places. I do, however, need to be back in about a week or so. This one's interesting and I'd rather not miss out on it."

"Oh really?" he asks. "Where are you going?"

She walks back over to her desk and straightens out the papers, grabbing her pen and filling out more information.

"It's on this planet called the Library," River explains. "Surely you've heard of it. A whole planet dedicated to books, and a while ago all its inhabitants disappeared." She looks up and grins. "Quite the mystery, if you ask me—sweetie, are you alright?"

All the color has been drained from his face and he feels like his knees have turned into strawberry jam. But he focuses on River and smiles weakly, trying to make himself look alright but knowing he's failing at it.

"Yes, I'm perfectly fine," he lies. "Just a bit famished is all. Haven't eaten since Morpheus 7, remember? Just need some…food."

She eyes him suspiciously, but seems to dismiss her doubts. "The cafeteria is in the building next door," she tells him. "Why don't you grab something to eat while I finish up these last few pages? Then we can have all the fun we want." Her last sentence is dripping with innuendo, and that brings him back to earth and reminds him _she's still here, and she's not gone just yet_.

However, it doesn't stop him from slumping against the wall once he's outside the building and wondering why fate is such a cruel, merciless thing.

* * *

For the next couple of days, he relishes in their last adventures together. Saving lives, fighting things. It's just like any other trip to her, but to him it's just a series of _lasts_. The last time River is going to get them imprisoned. The last time she's going to smile at him like that. The last time she's going to insinuate something and he's going to blush. He always wonders when something is going to be her last.

He realizes, a little afterward, that it won't be the last for him. He remembers her spoiling him on adventures, ones he hasn't gone on yet. And he knows he'll see her again, someday. But time is a funny thing, especially between her and him. And knowing that she's going to die means that each meeting afterward will slowly countdown to his last adventure with her, and he probably won't even know it. Before, there were so many possibilities but now he has _restrictions_. And he absolutely hates restrictions.

When River is asleep or piloting, he'll sneak into the deepest part of the TARDIS and work on her sonic screwdriver. He takes his previous one, from his last regeneration, and fixes it up. He adds things like a user identification ring, dampers, and even enhances the emitter lens. Finally, he downloads her personality into the small compartment at the top, right where he remembered it was. After that he digs up Jack's old squareness gun and cleans it up after it's long period of not being used.

A week after he took her he brings her back, as he promised. She kisses him and says that she hopes to see him later, and he says she will, in fact. Tonight, and tells her to get on the best dress she owns. She smiles and says she's looking forward to it.

Exactly 200 days After Ponds, he sets out his best suit and takes a trip to a barbershop in 1923 France, getting his hair cut a little bit shorter than before. It'll grow back, in time. And time is all he really has left now.

He dresses up, top hat and all, and puts the objects in his jacket pocket. He arrives right on the clock, this time, and knocks on River's room door. She greets him, looking stunning and beautiful and _why does she have to go_. He keeps up a smile, tries to enjoy himself as he sets the coordinates for a nice restaurant, one they've been to previously, before Darillium.

They land a little ways from the establishment and are halfway there when River realizes she's left her purse behind. They go back, and he remembers this so clearly. They have a brief argument over where the TARDIS is. She goes to the wrong TARDIS, being incorrect for once. He, the younger, much more naïve version of him, is already in a bit of a situation himself and parked himself in a random location because on top of everything else he'd rather not accidentally bump into the Time Vortex on accident.

He sees her standing in between the doors and runs up to stop her from saying anything too spoilerish. She, of course, takes this as an opportunity to make the two of him blush immensely. River heads for the TARDIS parked around the corner and announces what they're doing, absolutely ecstatic. He watches his own face fall, but tries to keep a cheery disposition.

"The first time we met her, at the Library," his younger self says, "where she…"

"Died," he mumbles. "Yes."

"She said the last time she saw was at Darillium," his younger self reminds him. He pauses, before he asks the fated question. "Is that now?"

And he wants to say yes, yes it is. He wants to say everything that will ever happen, just to spare himself the pain. But it's selfish and he remembers exactly how it goes, all of it. And changing the timeline could mean a lot of thing, and he curses himself for knowing all of them.

So he just looks up and gives a small smile. "Spoilers." He nods. "Good look tonight."

He younger self mirrors him, frowning and giving a distant look. "You too."

He looks away. "Yeah…" And with that he exits.

The dinner is nice. He doesn't eat much of it, he feels too nauseous to really even look at it. Luckily he and River are talking too much for her to notice. He's trying to keep their conversation going, as long as it can. Because it's her voice and if he acts like everything is normal then maybe he won't be reminding himself that yes, she's going to die.

They talk about their travels, the TARDIS, time, and other things. Not the Ponds, though. And especially not her expedition to the Library.

Eventually River grows restless and wants to go see the singing towers. So they pay the bill and return to the TARDIS.

He can feel his hands aching when he sets the coordinates for Darillium.

They settle on a hill just outside of the city, where the bustle of city life isn't too deafening. The towers sing beautifully, echoing in the air. To River, the towers are singing a high, beautiful song. To him, they're singing her eulogy.

They sit in comfortable silence, her leaning her head on his shoulder. For a moment, he's happy. He's on a wonderful date with his wonderful wife. And for a moment, he can pretend that after this he'll still show up at her room in the university and sweep her away on adventures.

But that moment is only moment.

And he starts to cry. Not absolute bawling or doubling over, no. But he feels his face get tight and a growing lump in his throat. Next his eyes begin to sting, and his vision gets blurry. The bright, singing towers become white fuzzy lines, standing out in the darkness.

He feels River move her head out from under him, and looks to see her frowning in concern.

"Sweetie, what's wrong?" she asks.

"It's nothing," he reassures her, but his voice is cracking slightly. "I'm fine."

"Sweetie, you don't _sound_ fine," River points out. "You know you can tell me."

He shakes his head. "I really, really can't."

"Why?" she asks,

He smiles at her. "Spoilers." And that's that. He decides to change the subject. "I have a couple things to give you."

She smiles. "Sweetie, you didn't have to do that! Now I'm going to have to get you something."

"I'd like to see you try," he retorts, smirking through his tears.

"Oh, I will."

He swallows the lump in his throat and fishes through his jacket pocket, grabbing the gun and the screwdriver.

River gasps. "My own screwdriver?" she asks.

He nods. "It's my old one. I modified it, even gave it some things mine doesn't have. I'm hoping it'll be…useful for your expedition."

She makes the screwdriver light up, grinning. "Oh, it's wonderful." She plants a kiss on his lips. "Thank you. And a gun! I thought you didn't like them."

"Well, it's not an ordinary gun," he says. "It's a squareness gun; a friend of mine gave it to me."

She turns the object over in her hands. "I've heard of these before, always thought they were rather interesting." She frowns and looks up. "Are you trying to make up for something?"

He holds his hands up in surrender. "What? No! Can't a husband give his wife gifts without having some sort of motive?"

She eyes him and smirks again. "Normally that's not the case."

"Well I'm not normal, am I?"

"_We're_ not normal, Doctor, we never have been."

They stay there for another hour before heading off. He tries to get her to stay longer but no, she insists she has to get back to the university and get a good night's sleep before being shipped off to the Library.

He lands in the hallway right in front of her room, and opens the doors. She gives him one last kiss, and he tries make it last as long as he can until they both have to pull away. She smiles and walks to the threshold, looking back at him.

"Well, I must be off," she says.

He smiles. "Yes, of course. I'm sure this will be a very interesting expedition."

She quirks an eyebrow. "Oh, do you?"

He looks at her, straight in the eye. "Spoilers."

She smirks. "I'll see you later then, sweetie." She closes the doors behind her.

He looks down, at his shoes, and wipes the lipstick she left on his face with his hand. He stares at it. It's red, and almost looks like a bleeding wound if one didn't know better. But he knows one thing, for certain:

He really hates endings.

* * *

Its 264 days After Ponds when he finally gives up. Gives up on helping people, gives up on caring or daring to reach out. He's like King Midas, he rationalizes, only everything he touches turns to dust.

He looks back, sees if he can find any relationship he's had that hasn't gone awry. He finds none, always sees the bad things that happened to the people who cared, the people who stuck beside him.

"You know what it's dangerous about you? It's not that you make people take risks; it's that you make them want to impress you. You make it so they don't want to let you down. You have no idea how dangerous you make people to themselves when you're around."

Rory said that once, long ago. And now, he really, truly believes it.

* * *

On day 289 After Ponds, he actually stops saving people.

Before, he just had no motivation. He never put it into any use, though. But today—today he actually doesn't do anything. Today, he is just a witness, like the rest of them. Not a hero, not a vigilante. Just a bystander.

He's on an Earth colony in the 51st century, somewhere out in the Belerium Galaxy, when the neighboring inhabitants the next planet over start the invasion. Fire raining down from the sky, whole families running for their lives. The settlement looks like Hell has come to Earth. And he stands on a hill, safe from harm at the moment, just staring.

Part of him, the old part that said, "Come along, Pond" and laughed and didn't really hurt as much, wants to help. But that part of him is so tiny now, a small speck of light in the darkness he's obtained.

The screaming can be heard from here, and eventually it bothers his ears. So he walks back to the TARDIS and flies into the Vortex, never looking back.

* * *

New things still interest him, always peak his curiosity. That hasn't changed in him. When he's stopped at an alien supermarket, 316 days After Ponds, and looking around when he spies a most curious creature on one of the stands.

It's small, with six webbed feet and a bluish discoloration. Its eyes are black and large, and it's covered in fur. When he walks up, its cat-like ears perk up and it looks straight at him, making a squawking noise from its long beak.

"Hello little fella," he says, bending down to look at it. "And what might you be?"

It squawks at him again.

"It's one of those animals you find in the jungle down south," the shop owner says. "Just recently discovered, only four herds have been found so far."

He looks up at the man, who's got three eyes and spikes down his back. "Does it have a name?"

"They're calling it 'The River Dweller', since that's where it's been found a lot lately," he continues.

The Doctor sticks his finger in between the grates of the cage and the dweller snaps at it, barely missing as he retracts the digit. "Interesting."

The shop owner eyes him. "Look, are you going to buy it or what?"

He looks up. "Oh, no."

"Then I suggest you look elsewhere, you're blocking the merchandise from other's viewpoints."

He leaves, looking back at the curious creature. He really loves new things.

* * *

Of course, it's not always like that. Most of the time, he sits in the TARDIS, fixing things and trying not to interfere.

On day 350 After Ponds, he starts talking to himself again.

He's got to say, it took him long enough. Last time, he'd only been alone for a couple weeks before he started babbling into the empty air, before he finally went insane. And he has gone insane, at this point, he knows it. He can feel the insanity creeping through his veins. The self-hatred, the pride, the remorse, the memories. They plague him, night and day. And there's nobody to distract him from it, not anymore. He doesn't want to place those things on a person now.

He doesn't notice it happening until he stops for a response and expects to hear Amy or Rory or River or, hell, even _Donna_ to talk back at him. And then realizes that he is alone.

"—and the cooling castes have gone absolutely wonky," he babbles. "Completely short-circuited the heating system, now the whole TARDIS is cold, even for me! Must be freezing for you lot, eh? I'm surprised you haven't put on a parka or a poncho. In fact, go ahead and rush to the wardrobe and grab two, if you could. My hairs are beginning to stand on end. Could you do that?"

Silence.

He frowns and looks up at the console above him, momentarily trapped in the fantasy. He slips out of the swing and walks up the stairs.

"Oi, is anybody listening to me?" he asks. "It's like I'm just talking—"

The console room is empty, and the only sound is the time rotor continually pumping up and down.

He lifts his goggles up. "Oh," he realizes. "Blimey, I…must have lost myself a bit there." He laughs once. "Whoops."

He goes back to his work, and fifteen minutes starts talking again, as if the whole incident never happened.

* * *

365 days After Ponds.

One whole year.

Usually, years pass by quickly for him, or at least recently they did. But this one, he can remember every single day and the lethargic pace each one went by. He counts the hours, the minutes until the day has come. One full Earth year ago, Amy and Rory Pond practically died in front of him.

He reads the afterword again, with the glasses. They're the only two objects that really make him happy, have him think of happier times. Of innocently reading in Central Park and just having another adventure.

But slowly, everything else that reminds him of them is growing more and more painful.

He doesn't even have to pass by their old room anymore. Just the console room is enough. That's the entrance to the hallway where they would always appear after a good night's sleep, asking where they would be going next. That the seat they sat in, too tired to stand anymore and laughing because they just narrowly escaped something. That's the railing where he caught Amy and Rory snogging and kindly asking them to go get a room. That's the couplings Rory dropped once that almost blew a hole in the Universe. That's the console he and River would constantly fight over, arguing who should be piloting.

He leans against the console, head down.

"It's not fair," he says finally, in a gruff voice. He hasn't spoken in a couple days. He looks up.

"I've saved so many lives, _done_ so many good things! I have constantly been the hero, and what is my reward?" he asks the air. "My mercy, my kindness. I could do so much, change so many things. I have the power at my hands to destroy entire galaxies, but do I? No. No, I help people. I always have. Had, I don't anymore. Because you know what?

He turns around and laughs bitterly. "Oh course you don't know, you're not here. You're nothing. And that's the point. I do all these wonderful things, and my reward is _nothing_. All the people I affect, all the lives I touch are thrown away." He pauses. "Perhaps they're too weak for me. A Time Lord's life is meant for Time Lords. Humans…they can't keep up." He pauses. "They're apes, blindly moving forwards without a thought in the world. And they've done so well without my help, they don't need me. And I don't need them. Not anymore."

He looks around the room once more, and everything is just _memories_. And it's too cheery for him. It suggests a happy person, and he's not that. Someone with not a care in the world. He's beyond that now.

He can't take it now. He lands the TARDIS in a random location and walks out until he figures he can go back inside. Which, in his case, might be never.

He's landed on a vague Earth city. He doesn't know which one, exactly, and he doesn't want to find out. He doesn't even look at the date to find out when he is, he just walks the street. It's night, and not many people are out. He doesn't feel afraid of the thugs or the gangs or whatever might greet him. He's the Time Lord Victorious, the last one alive. He _won_, and a human with a gun isn't going to stop him from winning.

He walks around in the city for a couple hours, approximately. He doesn't know, but he manages to end up on the same street he started on after a period of wandering. His hands are cold and his feet are sore. Even after so much running he gets tired. So he decides to go inside and spend the rest of the day doing something, anything.

He slides the key in and opens the door. What he finds is not what expects.

It is completely different.

The room is smaller, darker. Full of cold colors, like blues and purples. Very, very different from before, with the warm reds and oranges that made people's stomachs turn hot and feel like home. This looks like a lair made for a mad genius. Gallifreyan words and sentences rotate around each other, and he can read every one of them: _Susan, Ace, Rose, Jack, Jamie, Sarah Jane, Donna, Amelia, Rory, Barbara, Brigadier, Romana, River_, and others. The controls are efficient, obvious, and organized.

It is the exact opposite of what it used to be.

He looks up. "Thank you," he whispers.

He closes the doors behind him.

* * *

When day 393 comes around he's in the wardrobe, picking out a clean outfit to wear because the one he's wearing now got dirty after a nasty accident with the blender. He's still in the clothes, which are splashed with purple and blue.

"Clean outfit," he mumbles to himself. "Clean outfit, clean outfit, clean…" He trails off, finding himself in front of the mirror.

The tweed jacket, torn and frayed. It's been used for over 400 years, of course it's that way. Repeatedly stitched up and fixed to perfection. It used to look cool to him, but it just looks…tired now.

"New jacket," he says. "And a new shirt, too."

He takes off the braces and puts on a new shirt. Plain white, not striped red. He searches a little deeper into his old regenerations and pulls out an old button-up vest and decides why the hell not. Trousers seem fine, boots are good. He slips his old army coat over his shoulders and finds a top hat in the back.

"I look like a mighty magician," he comments to nobody. He turns around once and frowns. Something doesn't feel…right.

He inspects every article of clothing he has on, until he comes to the old red bow tie he has wrapped around his neck.

He tugs at it, adjusts it like he always does. But it doesn't feel comfortable, like it's choking him.

_And you kept the clothes._

_Well I just saved the whole world, the planet, for about the millionth time, no charge. Yeah, shoot me, I kept the clothes._

_Including the bow tie._

_Yeah, it's cool. Bow ties are cool._

He tugs at it again, and it comes undone, sliding out from under his collar until it's in his hands. It's torn, frayed. It's raggedy, made for a Raggedy Doctor.

He isn't that character anymore.

There's still a tie section, deep in the back of the wardrobe. He hasn't even peeked at it since his last regeneration, he hasn't needed to. Bow ties used to suit him perfectly, why go for neck ties? Only serious men wore bow ties, and he was certainly not a serious man.

He finds them on a rack. Black ties, green ties, silk ties, blue ones with swirls that are even more burned and beaten up than the neckwear he's grasping tightly in his hand. He settles on a plain cotton brown one, and fumbles with the process of tying it for a couple minutes until he's finally got the knot set right. He looks at the bow tie in his hand and walks out of the wardrobe, going into the kitchen. He throws it in the rubbish bin.

They haven't been cool for a long, long time.

* * *

He reads the afterword, every day. Something to root him down, something that keeps him from being absolutely full of himself. And he puts the glasses on frequently. After so many years this body has started aging more and he (is) beginning to lose his sight, unable to read notes or labels.

He doesn't travel much anymore. Trouble usually finds him and grows out of hand. And he doesn't go searching for old friends, either. People like Craig or Sarah Jane—whom before he would visit if he had the time, catching up and sharing stories—are no longer people he wishes to seek out.

That doesn't mean, however, that he doesn't encounter them.

472 days After Ponds he's landed in Victorian-era London, only because it's a familiar place and the engines need to cool off after moving throughout the vortex for so long. He stops at a local café, one he's been to once before. He remembers that they have good lemon squares and orders two for himself, eating them on a table outside.

He watches people passing him by. Some stare at him, looking at his demeanor and just _knowing_ he isn't like the people around him. Others just don't acknowledge him, too occupied with their lives. He wonders if they know the man they're simply striding past has saved them and their race countless times. He answers with no, probably not.

The adults are the ones to ignore him, determined to finish a job or fiddling through their purses for something. The teenagers glance at him, some gazing longer than others but quickly shaking themselves and moving along. But the children, especially the small ones, fix their eyes on him, smiling. A couple tug on their parent or guardian's arm and pointing at him. He'll draw up a small smile and wave once at the adult, who either mouths 'sorry' or glares at him before berating their child and moving along.

Eventually he finishes the lemon squares and leaves the café. It's been about forty-five minutes, long enough for the engines to rest. He walks back, just around the corner from the TARDIS when he hears them.

"Do you really think it's him, miss?" a high-pitched voice with a Cockney accent inquires.

"Who else could it be?" a deeper, more sultry female tone replies. "Only one such a man would leave a police box lying out in the open."

"Do you think he's somewhere around here?" she asks.

"Oh yes, of course," the deeper voice answers. She pauses. "In fact, he's here now. Aren't you, Doctor?"

He sighs, and contemplates running away. Then again, when facing a Silurian escape is not much of an option.

He turns the corner and is greeted by two figures, a young woman in a simple dress with her black hair tied up in a bun, and another woman dressed head to toe in black, a lace veil covering her face.

"Vastra," he says, nodding. "Jenny. Nice to see you again."

"And you," Vastra says. She turns back to the TARDIS. "I must ask why your ship is in such disrepair."

He looks at the white scorch marks. He and River never bothered to repaint it in all the time they had.

"Got into a rather nasty bit of trouble in New York," he answers simply.

He can see Vastra smirking behind her veil. "You're going to have to tell me about that later."

He shakes his head. "I'd rather not. In fact, I'm just leaving."

"No, stay!" Jenny says. "Come back to the house with us. An hour or two can't hurt, can it?"

He looks at the both of them, and plans to say that he's very busy, and that something is waiting for him on a certain planet, but when he speaks the words get jumbled up and form into the phrase, "I suppose you're right. Maybe a cup of tea before I head off."

The manor is as it was before, when he last visited it eons ago. It feels like eons, maybe even another life.

They settle in the garden, which is thriving and green. They are seated in wicker chairs and table made of glass and served tea.

He sits there, silently, until Jenny starts talking.

"It's been so long seen we've seen you," she says. "Three years, to be exact."

"Really?" he asks. "And how have you two been managing?"

"Fairly well," Vastra says. "We took Strax after Demon's Run and were able to restore him back to health. It's his day off, otherwise we would've had him come to see you. And some developments happened between the two of us…"

He frowns. "Developments?"

Through the glass he can see their fingers intertwine.

"Oh!" he says, smiling. "Congratulations, the two of you."

It grows silent again. He enjoys the company of Vastra and Jenny, he truly does, but right now he just wants to leave and get back to the TARDIS, safe and alone.

"So where are your friends?" Jenny asks. "The redheaded girl and funny one."

He doesn't wish to say anything, so he keeps silent and looks down.

He hears Vastra gasp. "How? What happened?"

"Weeping angels," he mutters, still not looking up. "New York is full of paradoxes, I couldn't…" He swallows the rest of the words.

"Oh," Jenny sighs. "That's unfortunate. I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter anymore now," he tells them. "Water under the bridge."

He doesn't have to look at their faces to know they don't believe him.

"Well what of River Song?" Vastra asks.

He hesitates. "She's got the university," he says. "She's a professor now."

There's another awkward pause. He looks up to see Vastra staring intently at him and Jenny looking as if she's trying to hold something back.

She smiles. "Me and the lady have been taking cases for Scotland Yard," she says.

"Oh, have you?" he asks.

She nods. "Used to be serial killers, but now we've been getting the odd ones. You know, lady who says a poltergeist drowned her husband, people dying with no cause of death…things that would interest you, actually."

Ah, that's what she's wanted to ask.

He shakes his head. "Not very much interests me anymore."

Jenny frowns. "But you could help! Some of these are unlike we've ever seen before. There's a man who's living without a head, did you know? Someone chopped it clean off and he's still going to the mill."

"I've retired," he says. It's the first time he's said it aloud. He's never had anybody to say it to until now.

Vastra squints her eyes. "The Doctor, retired? You must be joking."

"I'm not," he says, looking straight at her. "I am finished, my work is complete."

"Your work is never complete," she counters.

"Well maybe I'm sick of waiting for it to be!" he bites back, and the quiet returns again. He hates quiet. He leans back, only just realizing that he had catapulted himself halfway across the table, the wicker chair squeaking under stress.

He sighs and looks up to see the two women wide-eyed. "What? Don't believe me? I'll even settle down somewhere and get myself a cat to prove it to you. I don't do…saving people, anymore. I've lost my touch with age."

They share a glance.

"Well," Vastra says, looking down. "We will still be by your side."

"You could settle here!" Jenny suggests. "London's beautiful during winter and it's almost December."

"I surely couldn't," he says, because he knows if he stays they're going to keep asking him to help with this or that. "I don't want to be a burden."

"You are never a burden," Vastra reassures, and he feels she's speaking in more ways than one. "And even if you do not wish to stay at the manor, surely you can find somewhere else. It is a big city."

* * *

He can't find comfort in any place inside the city. It all holds memories that have already happened or are yet to happen. The manor is too cluttered, and he can't go anywhere else. Vastra and Jenny are keeping a close eye on him, making sure he doesn't do anything ridiculous through a series of spies. And even then, Victorian London fits him well this time of year. He blends in. Here, he is just another normal citizen, not the odd man with bow tie who's walking like he doesn't have a care in the world. Here he fits in, keeping his head ducked low and his eyes averted.

He finds a nice solution for escaping the spies and finding a place to lodge on the 430th day After Ponds by manipulating the water vapor in the sky. It's fairly easy, seeing as London during the holidays calls only for rain and snow. He adds the staircase and ladder a little later, enjoying the solemnity for just a while more before being thrown back into talking to people, though he tries his best to avoid doing any such thing.

Vastra, Jenny, and Strax still try to convince him to get back into business, tell him stories about odd happenings and out-of-place events. He doesn't accept any of them, though. None of them hold any interest.

It's the things he finds out of the blue that make him smile. Animals in the market, even people. Something he views from far away, safe from harming anyone or drawing attention. If he does, he finds ways of making that attention disappear.

He enjoys himself in the city, sometimes. Eavesdrops on funny conversations while resting at the local pub, tests the spies' knowledge of him by dressing up in different disguises. He'll have a good laugh, once or twice, and the large smile that used to be always plastered to his face returns yet again.

But at the end of the day he arrives at the small patch of grass under the trees, usually singing a song the carolers were chanting into repetition throughout the night. He jumps up, grabs on the ladder and climbs up the stairs until he's in the sky, looking over everybody, hearing everybody, and seeking solemnity in his magical blue box.

On day 435 After Ponds, he decides 'The Oncoming Storm' isn't a suitable name anymore.

'The Lonely God' suits him much better.


End file.
